Anchor
by ManyAnimaux
Summary: When you have completed the task set before you, how does life continue? What comes next when the world's need of you is past?
1. Chapter 1

**All belongs to JKR, what a beautiful place she created! I am but a smutty, smutty bystander. I removed the first chapter, I don't think it was working.**

The file flew to her desk and unfolded itself. It must be the last of the day, caught up in the backlog. She picked it up with a small sigh. It was the end of the day and she had just cleared her desk. She glanced at her wristwatch. 7:05pm. The rest of her co workers had gone home an hour before. She preferred to go home quietly, without the hubbub of the usual rush to the floos. They had stopped asking her to join them for drinks within the first two months, and that was 5 years ago.

Sent from: Shaun Dibbler. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Floor 4

Recipient: Ms Granger. Being division. Floor 4.

Case number: 8976952

Complaint of unregistered werewolf spotted in some town in the Midlands. No attacks or injuries, likely to just be a shaggy dog and a het up squib owling in. Please check and report back.

Address: Spinners End, Cokeworth (apparition familiarisation photograph attached)

-Shaun

Hermione let out a real sigh this time as she plucked off the photograph of a dark street of terraced houses. She'd never liked the word 'squib', and Shaun wasn't one with which to broach the subject of lexical choice. Idiot. She might as well go and check now, it was unlikely to be anything major, a shift in public perception towards werewolves had eased their transition into the mainstream of the wizarding world since Remus Lupin had been outed as a hero after his death. _There's always one stick in the mud, though_ she thought as she imagined the elderly witch or wizard calling the ministry, eyes wide with mistrust at the sight of a too-large dog.

She stood and stretched. She didn't need to take anything with her, she would just apparate there and then go straight home. She looked more closely at the photograph and noted the weeds blowing in a breeze, the streetlight flickering over the streetsign, nodding slightly to herself when she felt she had the place memorised safely.

Leaving the office, she muttered 'nox' as she exited the department. Magical lighting didn't use electricity, but old habits die hard, and she had been raised to conserve energy as a child growing up muggle. She ambled over to the floo network. As she passed the fountain she frowned. They were still debating what to put there since destroying the pureblood fantasy statue of Pius Thicknesses' puppet term. She shuddered. Bad memories lingered in the atrium. She decided to take the phone booth up to muggle London to aparate. Some found the journey claustrophobic but the dark sliding of the walls seemed soothing to Hermione, she liked to see the layers of history on her way up. As soon as she got out of the booth, cold air jolted her lungs and she coughed in surprise. The temperature certainly had dropped.

Around the nearest quiet corner, she turned in place and felt the familiar constricting band at her chest as she winked out of London and appeared with a pop in Cokeworth under a streetlight. She gasped in shock as the frigid air hit her. _Good Lord_ she had thought London was cold! Her breath clouded in the air and old snow crunched under her shoes as she checked her surroundings. Yes, this was it, just as in the photograph.

She carefully set off down the street, out of the light so as not to arouse suspicion of any muggles looking out of the windows. First she cast a silent homenum revelio spell, and was surprised to find only one being near to her, despite the many terraced houses in the area. It was a magic presence, though. _It must be the caller_ , she thought. She picked her way over to the appropriate door and knocked. After a moment she heard shuffling, then a series of locks clunking. A man with a grizzled face and a mad aura of white hair opened the door.

'What d'ye want?' He snapped.

Hermione cast her ministry ID charm for the man. 'Hello sir, I'm here to respond to a complaint?'

'Bloody took long enough, I sent the owl this morning!'

'Sorry sir, we do try to respond as quickly as possible. Could you tell me precisely what you saw that disturbed you?'

'Big wolf, weren't it.' He said, gruffly

'Where was this, sir?'

'Over near the rubble, there, down the road, girl.'

'And what made you think it was a werewolf, sir?'

'The fact it was a bloody wolf, in England!' If the man rolled his eyes any harder he'd go blind.

Hermione took a deep breath and rattled off the werewolf characteristics, few that there were.

'Do any of those sound familiar?' She asked.

'Well. No. Might be it was smaller than that, eh? Maybe not so much wolfyness as all that… But it was a dirty great shaggy thing anyway! And ye hear all sorts these days. Werewolves as people, wanderin' round…' He eyeballed her defensively.

'I'm not sure what you've heard, sir, but this one doesn't sound like a werewolf… I'll go and have a poke about anyway for you, but honestly, I wouldn't worry sir. I'll owl you a letter about what I find, alright?'

The man looked barely mollified. 'Right then' he sniffed, and shut the door firmly in her face. As she walked towards the direction he pointed, she heard his numerous locks snick-snack back into place.

The rubble was at the furthest end of the road, where no lights worked. She could hear the muted sound of a river nearby. She carefully climbed the rubble to gain a better view. 'lupus revelio' she said quietly, just in case homenum hadn't picked something up. To her utter lack of surprise, there was nothing near. She flapped her arms at her side in a frustrated shrug. _People,_ she thought uncharitably, _are idiots_.

She turned to fid flat ground from which to apparate, and at once felt her foot slip on an icy half brick.

'Shit!' she squealed as she fell, her ankle made a sickening cracking noise, her arm caught on something, and her head bounced once off another brick before she settled in a crumpled heap at the base of the pile.

Nothing moved for a solid minute. Then a ripple in the air preceded the sudden appearance of a tall, thin figure outside of the last house in the street. A single, deep sigh huffed into the air and crystallised into a single, heartfelt word.

'Bollocks.'


	2. Chapter 2

She opened her eyes and then wished she hadn't. A starburst of pain lanced through her eyes.

'Oh fuck,' she groaned.

'And Good evening to you too, Ms Granger.' Came a quiet voice from nearby.

Her eyes few open, and frantically searched the small room. There, in the corner. A battered brown armchair held a figure in the shadows. She sat up. Well, she tried to sit up. Well... she tried to move vertically at all. Nope. Her body was a length of knotted pain.

'I stopped the bleeding and brought you round, but I didn't want to treat your injuries without permission'

Hermione lay still, allowing her head to stop swimming. She knew that voice, that silhouette, the man clearly knew her.

'Professor Snape?' She whispered. Whispering was good. Less painful to her head.

'So glad I made an impression at school.' He answered drily. 'Now, would you like me to take you to St. Mungo's?'

'No!' Hermione gasped. 'Sorry… no, thank you. Do you have any dittany? That would work, wouldn't it?' He gave her an odd look, but shook his head.

'You are a little beyond dittany. You have a spiral break of your leg, you managed to take out a chunk of your arm on a broken pipe out there, you cracked your head hard, and you've lost quite a lot of blood despite my stopping the flow. So. Before anything else, do I have permission to augment your blood and fix that leg?' He held his wand ready.

'Yes, please. Thank you, professor.' He stood and loomed over her again. Her memories from school flooded back to her. She felt her huge intrusion on his life like an additional wound as he gave her the blank, dark stare she had tried to forget.

'I'm sorry to disturb you; I was in the area after a werewolf complaint… I didn't pick up another life form at all…'

'It's Fidelius.' He muttered as he ran his wand over her chest. A very strange and unpleasant feeling oozed in her body, like her organs had managed to spring a leak all at the same time. She grimaced, but the unpleasant feeling faded quickly and she felt distinctly less dizzy.

'The idiot moved in a few years ago. Thinks he's the only magical person for miles. Drink this.' He added. Hermione took the small vial from him and sniffed it. She looked up to find him staring at her, unmoving and unblinking. He nodded in an infinitesimally small movement. She felt trapped in his eyes, and without any more hesitation drank from the vial. Immediately the throbbing in her head eased.

'Thank you' she sighed, and relaxed more into the sofa. He went to stand at her feet and flicked open her robe. She felt sick at the sight of her twisted leg and looked away quickly. As he waved his wand over her in a complex pattern and spoke in a low tone, she heard, but didn't feel, her leg twisting back. The small grinding pops and crunches of bone reknitting were awful to hear, but when he stepped back and she looked again, her leg was back to normal.

'Now,' he said, and sat back down. 'Your head is another matter.'

'It doesn't hurt nearly so much now, thank you professor.'

'Mr Snape' He said quietly. 'I no longer teach. And your head doesn't hurt as much thanks to the potion you took. You aren't out of the woods yet.' He shifted his weight. 'Who can I take you to?' He asked.

'Please, I can go home. I'll cast a monitoring charm. My parents are quite old, and I can't bother anyone else. I'm proficient at charms, and I'll owl work in the morning to make them aware, so someone else will know.' She made to sit up but stilled utterly as he sinuously stood and pushed her back firmly.

'No.' He said, and sat back down. 'Ms Granger… for a woman of some intelligence you can be very stupid.'

She gaped at him, then looked down. The confused feelings of her youth bloomed large in her mind. A compliment, or derision, or both?

'What do you suggest, Mr Snape?' She said quietly.

'Stay here the night, and I will monitor you personally. In the morning I will release you.' He steepled his fingers and watched her face carefully. She didn't look at him, but he could see her breath hitching. He couldn't help himself; he had to dip in, why was she acting so oddly?'

Her mind was a tumble of residual pain, nightmarish memories of St. Mungo's and the smell of death, and underneath- a tightly wound need, for approval, for understanding. A dark pulsating ball. He startled and pulled back. He needed time to ruminate about that.

'You need to rest, and you need healthy sleep. I'm going to take you upstairs.' He stood, and Hermione felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Giving up and allowing another person to make the decisions was a comfort she hadn't experienced before. He waved his wand over her and she effortlessly rose into the air. With patience and care he navigated the tiny staircase with her in front, and laid her on a hard bed in a stark room. Her eyes started to drift as she watched him cast a practical set of spells to track her breathing, pulse, temperature and brain activity. He left the room as she slipped under completely.

He settled into his armchair and leaned back, eyes closed. So- Ms Granger was not coping well. She was beyond unhappy, and numbed to the world. She had scars of the mind just as she had scars of the body. He understood those well.

He allowed his mind to return again to the inarticulate need she had writhing through her. He doubted she knew what she wanted. He smiled to himself. A witch like that needed guidance, she needed to give up control, she needed help to find her self-worth. He unsettled her; the small power games he had laid down for his own amusement when she was his student were paying unforeseen dividends. He shook his head and sighed to himself. He didn't need to be Machiavellian any more. No more games.

If he was going to show this damaged woman that they could be mutually beneficial he wasn't going to play any more games. He got to his feet and went back up the stairs, decision made. She was out completely, her vitals strong, as he knew they would be. He studied her face. Small worry lines had started to appear around her eyes, and a shallow frown line was beginning to form on her forehead. _Not yet 30 and already tired of life_ , he thought. He stepped closer to her and stroked one long, pale finger from her temple to her jaw. She sighed in her sleep. _Oh, Ms Granger, what fun we can have together…_


	3. Chapter 3

When she woke up, it took a moment for her to gather her wits. She tested turning her head gently from side to side- still sore, but there was no lurch of pain. She sat up slowly, and found a glass of water on a small table next to the bed. She drank half of it quickly, grateful for the cool relief it offered.

Only the merest creak from the stairs alerted her to the approach of her former professor. She looked to the door expectedly. He appeared, in black as ever, and strode over to her without pause. He tapped her head lightly with his wand and nodded at the information it gave him.

"Your pulse changed when you awoke," he muttered. He held out his hand. She looked at it, nonplussed.

"I would feel... more at ease, if I could feel your pulse for myself." At this, Hermione looked utterly confused.

"I would be rather dead if I didn't have one, Mr. Snape," she said, deadpan. It didn't stop his silent request, and she gave him an odd glance, but gave him her wrist. His sallow fingers were firmly pressing into her skin within a short moment of her capitulation.

"Where did you learn muggle medical care?" she asked quietly.

"Shh." He hissed shortly. His face blank, concentrating. He released her wrist and looked into her face. "Thank you." He said. She couldn't work out his expression, he was giving her his best mask; she hadn't a hope of reading him.

"The bathroom is across the corridor, come down and eat when you're quite ready." He said, and turned away.

Hermione felt an odd urge to check her own pulse. Had something been strange about her readings? She felt normal, fatigued from the after effects of blood augmentation and a head wound, but normal other than that. She counted in her head as she held her own wrist but found nothing unusual. She shook her head gently, it was of no matter, she was well, she owed him a debt of gratitude.

Carefully she stood, and was relieved to find her footing was sure on the wooden boards. Her healed leg was perfect. She availed herself of the bathroom, washed up fastidiously, and then took the stairs slowly.

He could hear her step, she was going gently, very sensible. He sighed. Sensible. Dull. Bored. Unfulfilled; his own life echoed hers. He had no secret hoard of funds; he had to keep working to buy the ingredients needed to brew more potions to sell for money so he could feed himself and buy more ingredients needed to brew more potions to sell for money so he could feed himself and buy more ingredients needed to brew more potions to sell for money and so on and so forth ad infinitum.

Sensible. Dull. Bored. Unfulfilled.

He missed interaction with other humans. He missed simple conversation, he missed being able to use his dry humour to illicit any response he wanted. He missed the touch of another person, even the simple every day handshake of good morning, the comforting hand on a shoulder. He couldn't bring himself to think on more intimate connections.

And here was another lonely soul. Someone who did not look at him as a pariah. It might be Hermione Granger, but it was someone, damn it. And someone he had a grudging respect for. Someone who was in need, like him.

If he could handle this correctly then yes. Yes, what fun they could have, what simple happiness they could find.

If he could handle this correctly.

He turned and gestured to a seat around his small kitchen table. She sat and gave him a small smile.

"I must thank you, I would have been in real trouble if you hadn't helped me last night."

"It's fine, Ms. Granger. You would have done the same for me. For anyone, given your nature." He turned at the whistling of the kettle and poured the steaming water into a large black teapot. Levitating to the table the teapot, the tea accoutrements and a rack of toast with a pot of butter, he joined Hermione at the table.

"That sounded dangerously like a compliment, Mr. Snape," she joked soflty.

"It was meant as one." He said, and caught her eyes in his. "toast?" he offered. She reached out and plucked one of the triangles from the rack, her cheeks flushing slightly. He leaned back and huffed out a breath. She looked up at him. He was staring at the ceiling, a slight frown on his face.

"Would you call me Severus?" He finally asked. She spluttered on her toast and coughed. He handed her a cup of tea and she gulped it down.

"That is an honour I would never have expected you to offer me. I would happily call you anything you wished, I think you may have saved my life last night."

 _Anything_ he thought, mind dancing wildly. _Anything I wished._ He cleared his throat and picked up his own cup of tea.

"Severus will do for now, thank you." He quipped. The blush returned.

"Of course, and please, call me Hermione," she gabbled, embarrassed.

"Very well, Hermione." His lips curled at the corner. A satisfaction seemed to settle over him. "Eat." He prompted. She dutifully took a bite of the toast that been forgotten in her hand and swallowed.

"I wanted to talk to you about something I noticed last night when I ran my diagnostics." She went completely still. He shifted in his seat and tried to find the right words. He settled on blunt truth.

"You are drastically unhappy. You have a darkness in you, Hermione."

She kept her head bowed but he could see her eyes darting around the room under her eyelashes, her mind racing. Finally she closed her eyes and sighed a long breath.

"I know." She said, simply. She laid her head on the table wearily, eyes still closed.

They stayed in silence for a few minutes. Then Hermione heard a loud crunch. She sat up and looked at Severus. He was munching on some toast, quite nonchalant. She shot him a quizzical look, he rewarded her with another curl of his mouth.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I didn't know if you were aware, and you are, and that's half the battle done with." He said, sounding almost… happy?

"What battle?" She asked, eyes narrowing. He gave her a level, calculating look, and put down the toast. He swallowed and dusted off his hands, then picked up his tea once more.

"I am no stranger to isolation, boredom, dark and intrusive thoughts. This will come as no surprise to you." She nodded slowly, he continued; "I recognise these same feelings in you, destructive feelings and thoughts that you don't have the training, the years of experience, to battle alone."

"I'm not alone," she interjected, "I have friends at-"

"-the ministry, yes, I'm sure." He said dryly. "Only, you don't. You have colleagues. The ball of emotion within you is dripping with need. A need that is not being met, Hermione. True friends would mitigate the effect of your emotions."

"It's…" she swallowed and blinked rapidly. His calm dissemination of her clear loneliness was quite disarming. "It's my choice," she finished lamely.

"Hmph. Yes, of course it would be" he responded, still observing at her with a weighty expression. "Why do you think I live so isolated? It's easier, in many ways. The energy to reach out for support, it can be… too much. And so many cannot understand." He smiled at her with true sympathy. She blinked at him, not knowing how to respond.

"However, Hermione," he seemed to enjoy saying her name, he drew it out, savoured it. "I am a veteran of living with this darkness. I have coping mechanisms, my occlumency, to hold the worst at bay. In you, I fear it is going to consume you. Don't you feel it, eating at you?"

She nodded, unable to look away from his gaze. He knew. He knew, Merlin's beard, _he knew_. Someone knew how she felt and she wasn't alone and she wasn't a monster. A fat, wobbling tear formed and fell from her eye. She wiped it from her face and stared at the wetness on her fingers with surprise. When was the last time she was able to cry?

"Why are you sharing this with me?" She whispered.

He leaned forward, and took a breath.

"Truth?"

"Truth, Severus."

He huffed at the sound of his name, then a wry smile broke his mask.

"I'm so very , very tired of dealing with it alone."

A silence stretched between them. Calculating, but peaceful.

"You want-" she started

"-I want," he stopped her. "to help you. And I think you could help me, too. Call it… mutually beneficial."

"And how do you propose to help me?" She asked, fascinated.

"In a… particular way. You need to not be alone. You need approval. You need someone to take control and…" he smirked, "save you from yourself," he finished.

"And you?" She asked, head spinning. "How do I help you in this scenario?"

He shook his head. _Scenario, indeed,_ he agreed internally.

"I have my own needs. I think we could fit together well, if you are able to take instruction. If I recall correctly, you were always willing to listen and learn and try your best. This would require, on a basic level, those same skills."

"You're scaring me," she breathed.

"Just…" he closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and stared at her intently. "Just think on it. Go home, I am satisfied you are well enough. Go home, and then go to work on Monday and allow yourself to feel that ball of darkness you've been trying to ignore. How long can you carry on as you have?"

And so she left. Head in a whirl and emotions whipping in the cold north wind, she left for her single bed flat in London, and let her thoughts wash over her like a tsunami.


End file.
